In front of the mirror, two bright red globes glowed as Eric rubbed soothing lotion into each cheek. Suddenly, the sweet coolness turned wicked, abandoned my skin and exploded into a burning heat that traveled deep and long lasting; capsicum.

"Are you serious?!" I whined. "That'll sting for hours!"

"Indeed," he replied handing me a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt. "Now get to it. I'll be back around 3."

Saturday afternoon:

"Amy Lynn!" Eric's voice boomed throughout the house. I jumped and hit my head on the shelf of the cupboard where I was kneeling, rearranging cookie sheets, pots and pans.

Eric stood over me for about six seconds before grabbing my hair and pulling me upright. I was bent over the kitchen counter, a thick wooden spoon was clasped in his hand. Eric went to town on my ass. Fast, hard, painful spanks plowed their way into my already sore bottom and the capsicum cream from earlier reignited, ratcheting the heat up exponentially.

Up the stairs I was pulled by the back of my arm, squealing like a stuck pig.

I ran through the list as fast as I could, squeezing my cheeks together.

"Vacuumed, office for two hours, paid bills, cleaned out kitchen glass and dish cabinets, took unwanted items to Salvation Army, washed all bedding and towels, banked, washed car, ate breakfast and lunch, drafted a proposal for work, scrubbed all "toys", masturbated, waxed eye brows, manicure and pedicure, called mother, father, brother and children, watered yard, wrote a letter, applied for a grant, fed the pets, cleaned three bathrooms and the entry, and started fixing the pot and pan cupboard."

I sat on the toilet and watched my husband shake his head and sigh heavily.

"You forgot polished the furniture", he said sliding down the wall and sitting on the sparkly bathroom floor.

Eric does not just spend time with me. He does not merely listen to my stories, hang out with or love me. Eric also studies me. He watches me, makes note of my patterns and pays close attention to my every move. He does this in order to "be everything you need me to be". He knows me, at times, better than I know myself.

"I hate to have to spank such a good girl," he said, "but the scent of lemon pledge was a dead give-away that you had an incredibly productive day doing everything except your homework."

Ah yes, Eric proves again that he knows me all too well. Overwhelmed with long lists and too much to do, I suddenly feel the need to spring clean and tend to matters that have sat unnoticed for months on end.

"I should not have left you alone today," Eric stated apologetically as I washed my hands in the sink and joined him on the floor. We talked about what was due and the order in which it needed to be turned in. We chatted about the schedule for the week and lined up a plan for getting everything done. Then Eric went to the chest and pulled out Sir Strap; thick heavy merciless leather.

"HONEY!" I cried. "I don't need that. I just can't get started because I have writers block."

"I'm not going to let you down again," Eric answered gently tucking my hair behind my ear, kissing my face and then returning to the closet. Back at the sink, he turned me toward the counter and told me to spread my cheeks while he lightly coated the purple butt plug in toothpaste and pressed it inside.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror," he ordered, raising the strap and coming down hard once he verified I was watching. "Maybe if you feel and see this it will make a more lasting impression."

My back broke out in a stream of sweat, my ass on fire both inside and out. I winced and clenched my teeth while trying not to squeeze my cheeks around the plug. Eric waited until I opened my eyes against the pain and then struck again. We did the dance seven times before I was jumping out of my skin and circling around the room.

After catching my breath, Eric hugged me tightly and then pulled out the wooden chair at his desk, seating my blazing behind in front of the computer.

"You have one hour to write your blog friends and then it's onto your homework," he warned. "Maybe this story will get you into writing mode."

It's almost five o'clock. I've gotten more done today than most people do in a week but none of it was on the list of "need to do this weekend".